“No.” He cut her off. The color bled from his face. He clearly recognized the names. His voice was harsh as he answered, “Why are you asking me this?”
Morgan pressed. “There’s only one reason I can think of you wouldn’t want your brother to get his appeal. You killed those women, and you don’t want the case reopened.”
He shook his head hard. “No.”
Stella leaned forward, her voice rising as she jumped in on Morgan’s line of questioning. “Did you take your brother’s car that night? Did you put sugar in Brandi’s gas tank? Did you follow her until her car broke down? Did you kill her?”
“No!” He spun, holding his skull with both hands. “You don’t understand.”
Stella lowered her voice. “I can’t understand unless you talk to me.”
“I didn’t kill any of them, but their deaths are my fault.” He closed his eyes. His hands fell to his sides. “The reason I don’t want my brother to get an appeal is because he’s a monster.”
Morgan exchanged a glance with her sister, and they waited.
“I’ve known Todd, the owner of Speedy Auto, since college. I talked him into hiring Cliff.” Guilt lined Joe’s face. “It’s my fault those women are dead. If I hadn’t gotten him that job, he wouldn’t have met them. They’d still be alive.”
“Five of them have never been found. How do you know they’re dead?” Stella asked in a soft voice.
“Because Cliff told me he killed them.” Joe backed up to his door and leaned on it. His eyes darkened and filled with pain. “He told me every detail. I begged him to stop. After each death, he promised me it would be the last one. A year or so would pass, and I’d think it was over. Then he’d give in to his need again. When Brandi Holmes was found, I hoped he’d go to prison.”
“Then why didn’t you testify against him?” Stella propped a hand on her hip.
Anger lit Joe’s face. “Because he’s my brother!” One big hand swept out to point at Morgan. “That’s your sister, right? Would you betray her?”
“If she murdered six people? You bet I would.” Stella nodded.
“Well, Cliff raised me after our parents died. He took care of me. He is the only reason I didn’t end up in foster care. He said, ‘Joe, we’re family, and family sticks together.’” Joe’s eyes glistened. “And now I’m going to have to betray him. I already have the deaths of six women on my soul. He can’t get out of prison. He can’t control himself. More people would die. I can’t live with that.”
He looked broken, and Morgan almost wanted to comfort him. But she remembered the five families of the missing women. This man had known their loved ones were dead for years and had let them suffer and hope all that time because he didn’t want to betray his monster of a brother.
Coldness swept through her as she realized his guilt went far deeper. He’d known after each woman had been killed.
His silence had allowed his brother to keep murdering.
Yes, those deaths were on his soul.
Almost all of his arguments had begun with I. He didn’t care about those women and their families. He only cared about himself.
“Will you testify now?” Morgan asked.
Joe blinked the moisture from his eyes. “Maybe. I’d have to make sure I wouldn’t be charged with conspiracy, aid and abetting, or accessory.”
Anger flared in Morgan’s chest. He was using the victims’ families as bargaining chips. That was low. And she’d almost felt sorry for him.
“Do you know where those women are?” Stella asked.
He met her gaze. His emotions closed down. His eyes shuttered, and his gaze went cold. “I might. Can you promise me immunity?”
Bastard.
Chapter Thirty-Five
An hour later, Morgan faced the whiteboard. Lance and Sharp stood shoulder to shoulder with her.
“Stella is going to be tied up for the rest of the night,” Morgan said. Her sister had taken Joe Franklin back to the station and sent Morgan back to the office in a patrol car.
“She’ll be tied up for the rest of the week,” Lance added. “Or longer, depending how quickly and where they locate the remains of the five women.”
“Which is why we need to concentrate on finding Olivia.” Sharp stared at the board and pressed both hands to the top of his head. “Who are the remaining suspects?”
Morgan picked up the marker and wrote ALIBI next to Ronald Alexander’s name. Next to Kennett Olander, she wrote DEAD. She drew a question mark next to Joe Franklin’s name. “Joe is in Stella’s hands now. Assuming his story pans out, we can eliminate him from our list.”
Sharp dropped his hands to his sides. “What about Franklin’s lawyer?”
Lance shook his head. “Mark Hansen said he was in Rochester, and he could prove it if he had to.”
“But he refused to provide evidence,” Sharp said. “What about the editor?”
Morgan checked her notes. “He says he was back at his bar in Brooklyn by midnight, and his bartender will back him up.”
Sharp waved a hand in the air. “The bartender would lie for him.”
Morgan sighed. “We could ask him for his E-ZPass records, but we can’t make him give us anything.”
“What if it was no one we know?” Sharp’s voice cracked. “What if Olivia was taken by some random psycho who saw her on TV and fixated on her? Or what if the LMS orchestrated her kidnapping because she found out about an illegal gun sale? Alexander could be right. Olivia could be dead. She could have been killed the same night she was taken.”
They were all quiet for a few seconds.
Lance’s phone went off, startling them. “It’s my mom.”
He answered the call. “Hi, Mom. I’m putting you on speaker. Sharp and Morgan are here.”
Jenny greeted them all, and then got down to business. “I’ve been digging deeper into all the people involved with Olivia, and I found something interesting about Kim Holgersen.”
“Interesting how?”
“Holgersen isn’t a common name. It wasn’t hard to find Kim’s parents. Frank and Ethel Holgersen live in Redhaven. I found their current home address and their previous one. A couple of years ago, the former property changed hands from Frank and Ethel to Stephen Holgersen. In the past six months, several creditors have filed against Stephen, and there’s a tax lien on the property.”
“So he’s in financial trouble,” Lance said.
“Yes,” his mom said. “He owns a company called Primitive Survival School, and the company has filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy.”
Morgan went to her desk, opened her laptop, and pulled up Kim’s social media profile. “I don’t see a Stephen Holgersen in Kim’s social media friend or follow lists.”
“They have to be related. Look him up directly.” Lance walked behind the desk and read the screen over her shoulder.
“He has his own social media accounts,” Jenny said. “As well as separate pages for the survival school. Kim’s social media accounts aren’t connected to any of Stephen’s. But Kim owns half of Stephen’s business.”
Morgan typed in the search bar. “There he is.”
Lance leaned closer. “Oh yeah. He’s definitely a relative. He looks like Kim.”
In his profile picture, a tall and red-haired Stephen Holgersen was dressed in camouflage from head to toe and held an AR-15. Morgan scrolled down the page, full of blog posts on survivalist tips. “He has a YouTube channel too.” She opened a new tab. “More of the same.”
“What’s the address of the property?” Sharp moved around the desk to watch over Morgan’s other shoulder.
Jenny gave them a rural route number in Redhaven. “The survival school uses that address as well. One more thing before I go. Stephen Holgersen drives a white Chevrolet Express Cargo Van.”
Was that the white van that had sat in front of Olivia’s house?
Jenny said goodbye and signed off.
Morgan plugged Stephen’s address into the app. Most of the pro
perty was solid green with a blue horseshoe-shaped blotch roughly in the center. “Looks like nothing but woods and a lake.” She switched to the survival school’s website. “The school offers weeklong classes on wilderness survival. There’s a photo gallery.”
She clicked through a series of pictures of people fishing with homemade spears and nets, building shelters from natural materials, and setting snares to catch small game.
Sharp stared at the screen. “That would be an excellent place to hide a kidnapping victim.”
Morgan tapped a finger on her desk. “But why would Olivia’s agent want to kidnap her own client?” Her tired brain whirled. “Could there be a financial motivation?”
“She and her husband were separated. So Kim probably needs money,” Sharp said.
“Right,” Morgan agreed. “But doesn’t she lose money if Olivia doesn’t produce more books?”
“It doesn’t make sense. She needs Olivia to finish her proposal.” Sharp reached for Morgan’s computer, still showing the company’s website. “We don’t know they are working together. There could be a conflict between Kim and Stephen. We have no information about their relationship, and we’ve all seen enough family disputes to know that being blood relatives doesn’t always translate to a close bond. We know Kim is Olivia’s agent. We are hypothesizing Stephen took Olivia. The rest is conjecture.” He clicked on a tab marked VIDEOS and read the first two titles out loud: “Setting Booby Traps to Keep Your Family Safe; How to Make an Explosive Trip Wire Alarm.”
Morgan read several more video headlines: “Know Your Rights on Property Searches and Seizure; How to Stay off the Government’s Radar.”
“This sounds like the guy who blew up our front porch.” Lance stood.
“We should call Stella,” Morgan suggested.
Sharp shook his head. “Why? She’s tied up with Joe Franklin, and we don’t have any evidence that directly links Stephen Holgersen to Olivia—at least nothing that isn’t purely circumstantial. The ability to have done something is not probable cause; neither is bankruptcy. Stella wouldn’t even be able to get a search warrant.”
“She could interview him.” Morgan shifted back in her chair.
“This guy is anti-government.” Sharp pointed to the computer screen. “He’ll know his rights. He’ll never agree to an interview. He won’t let her onto the property. Requesting an interview will give him advance warning and allow him to get rid of any real evidence on his property. If Olivia is there, he’ll move her.”
If she’s still alive.
Sharp rose to his feet. He glanced at Morgan, and then Lance. “I think I should go alone. I will be breaking a long list of laws tonight—”
Lance stopped him. “You are not going anywhere alone. I’m in.”
“In that case, you’ll need to have your lawyer on hand,” Morgan added.
Sharp could not be allowed to go off on his own. He had already nearly been arrested that night. Who knew what else he might do?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lying on her side under the blanket, Olivia heard the sound of the doors being unlocked. When had he said she only had two days left?
What day is it?
She lay in the corner, the blanket pulled up over her shoulders. Her breath rattled in her chest. Her body ached from her previous beating. He might not have to kill her. How much longer could she survive down here anyway?
The hinges squeaked as the doors opened, and his boots clomped down the stairs.
“What the fuck?” He walked closer, his footsteps crunching in the dirt until he stopped a foot from her head. His shadow fell over her. A few seconds passed. “Ah, shit.”
The flashlight beam looked red behind her closed eyes.
“Get up.” He nudged her with his foot.
Olivia groaned and rolled to her hands and knees. She’d tied the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. It hung down around her hands. She paused to cough and suck oxygen into her lungs.
“I said get up.” He tapped her thigh with the toe of his boot.
Pain shot up her leg, and she groaned, her head hanging.
“Come on. On your feet. Your time is up. We’re taking a walk.”
He’s going to kill me.
She looked up at him. He hadn’t bothered with the mask. Without it, he was just as intimidating. But Olivia had no options. Her time had run out.
She levered one foot under her body and lifted her head, her fist clenching the sock on the ground. Launching herself to her feet, she whipped the sock toward his head. She’d spent the last day filling the toe of her sock with every small rock she could find in the dirt of the cellar. Now those rocks struck her captor in the head with a solid thwack.
He staggered backward, his knees buckling. The flashlight fell to the ground. Olivia advanced, swinging the sock at his head again. It struck him in the temple. His arms windmilled for a second, and he fell backward into the dirt.
She wanted to hit him again, but she’d have to get closer. He might grab her.
Not worth it.
Afraid to take her gaze off him, Olivia snatched the flashlight from the ground and backed toward the stairs. He was half sitting, supporting himself with one hand. The other clutched his head.
Olivia turned and limped up the stairs. Outside, she shut the doors and glanced wildly around. The cellar had been dug into the side of a wooded hill. There was a large metal padlock on the ground next to the bulkhead. It locked with a key, which she assumed was in the cellar with her captor.
She needed to secure the doors. She’d stunned him, but she hadn’t knocked him unconscious. He’d be after her soon.
She grabbed a narrow branch and shoved it through the door handles. That was the best she could do. She turned away from the cellar and surveyed her surroundings. In the darkness, all she could see was woods. Were there any other people nearby? Should she risk using the flashlight?
She switched it on and kept the beam pointed toward the ground. A footpath led downhill, into the woods. Which way should she go? Follow the path and hopefully run into a vehicle she could take? Or go in the opposite direction?
Switching off the flashlight, she hobbled toward the path. The ground was sandy in both directions. He would have little difficulty following her trail. Adrenaline flowed in her bloodstream, easing her breathing and quieting the pain in her foot. But she still couldn’t move very quickly. She limped down the path.
She’d traveled less than a hundred feet when she heard the first impact of his body against the inside of the doors. He was on his feet. How long would it take him to break out? A few minutes? He wouldn’t be far behind her, and she wouldn’t be able to outrun him. She needed to find a place to hide.
Fear scrambled her heartbeat. Anxiety tightened her lungs, and she fought for air with each step. Cold, clammy sweat broke out between her shoulder blades. She couldn’t let him catch her.
The trail crossed another path. She had no time to think about which direction to go. Turning right, she kept going. There must be a vehicle somewhere nearby. She needed to keep looking. But between her injured foot and her asthma, she was hardly making progress.
How could she throw him off her trail? The trail divided again. She left a few prints in the wrong direction, then turned and backtracked to the intersection. Then she left the trail and walked parallel to it. But the snap of a twig underfoot drove her back to the path.
She couldn’t get a break.
The path ended suddenly. She tripped and went down on her knees. Pain shot up her legs. She sat back on her heels, winded and wheezing, her lungs aching. She’d emerged from the trees on a beach. A lake stretched as far as she could see. Moonlight glittered on its rippling blackness, shining like oil. A dock extended over the water, and a shed sat at the edge of the dock. Was there a boat inside? Moonlight turned the rocky beach silver. If she was careful and stayed on the rocks, she could cross the beach without leaving tracks.
But if she hid in the shed and he found
her, she’d be trapped.
A loud crack echoed in the night. Olivia froze for a few seconds. She’d thought she was too far from the cellar to hear him burst out, but she’d been wrong. She mustn’t have gotten as far as she’d hoped. He was close.
And he was coming for her.
She climbed to her feet and headed across the rocks toward the shed. There were no other hiding places in sight, and she was moving too slowly to stay ahead of him. The shed was her only hope. She opened the door and stepped inside. Disappointment rushed through her, followed by sheer panic. Fishing rods lined the walls. Fishing nets were heaped in the corner. The rest of the space was empty.
Could she hide under the nets? Did she have any other options?
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lance adjusted the night vision goggles on his head over the black knit cap that hid his bright-blond hair. He flipped up the goggles until he needed them. Next to him, Sharp secured the Velcro on his body armor. Like Lance, he wore black cargos and a black zip-up, with a cap over his short salt-and-pepper hair.
“I don’t like waiting behind.” Morgan stood next to the Jeep, her black jacket layered over her own Kevlar vest. A dark-gray scarf hid the pale skin of her face.
“If we run into trouble, we’ll need someone to call for help.” Sharp checked the weapon on his hip.
“You can’t bail us out if you’re in jail with us.” Lance didn’t like separating either, but they had no idea what they would run into.
Morgan was wicked smart, and she had many incredible qualities. But athleticism wasn’t one of them. She had powered through physical challenges in the past with sheer determination. But Lance and Sharp ran regularly and would be able to move faster on their own.
“There are too many variables that could turn to complete shit tonight.” Sharp selected a stick about three feet long from the ground. He took a piece of bright-yellow paracord from his pocket and tied it to the end of the stick. “We need a person on the outside.”
“What’s that?” Morgan asked.
“A trip wire detector.” Sharp held the stick in front of him. The cord fell straight down. He swept it slowly side to side. “The cord is lightweight. It should show us a trip wire without triggering it. An infrared sensor was used on the pipe bomb, but out here in the woods, it might make more sense to go low-tech. Stephen uses fishing line in his YouTube videos.”
Save Your Breath Page 24